


Confrontations

by etrix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angels, Angels are Dicks, Confined/Caged, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-23
Updated: 2010-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etrix/pseuds/etrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, the Winchesters were easily captured but getting them to accept their fate was a different matter.</p><p>Written as a possible ending for season 5, so somewhat spoilery for that and previous seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confrontations

**Author's Note:**

> Kripke said Supernatural’s all about family and that family is the key. It made me wonder what he could mean by that.

In the end the Winchesters were easily captured. After all, as Uriel had said, one just had to know where to apply the pressure. When the pressure came in the form of: ‘we have your friend Bobby; give yourself up or he dies… slowly’, Dean had agreed to meet Zachariah with barely a moment’s pause. Sam went with him to the exchange, a move the older hunter had argued against, but Sam had set his lower jaw and given him The Look, so Dean had talked to Zachariah and gotten a promise that he wouldn’t touch his little brother. The angel had agreed so, since angels don’t lie, Sam had come with him. It had made Dean nervous but it had also felt nice to know Sammy had his back.

They’d driven Bobby’s big van because they didn’t know what state the hunter would be in and it was well-stocked with emergency supplies. Like a panic room on wheels, Dean had joked. Sam hadn’t laughed.

The meeting spot had been a dingy back alley in Monroe, Michigan—which was way too close to Detroit for Dean to be happy about it. The older Winchester had insisted on doing a visual check of the place before letting Sam get out of the car. He’d even done a quick check for sulphur residue but all he’d seen was Zachariah and a couple dark-suited henchmen waiting for him at the end of the block. He still wanted to back away and just leave, but he couldn’t because they had Bobby and he knew, sure as he knew his baby pulled to the right after 9,000 miles, that the angels _would_ hurt their friend.

He’d walked down to meet them, feeling like he was in a bad spaghetti western, the kind where the hero dies in the end. He couldn’t shake the feeling of ‘something very fucked up’ but he couldn’t pin it down. He should have remembered, angels don’t lie but they don’t tell the whole truth either, because the demons showing up hadn’t been an accident, and _they_ hadn’t promised anything.

While Dean was down the street facing off against Zachariah, Meg and a dozen others jumped Sam. They didn’t bother with funky demon powers; they used a taser. They had him tied up and turkey-trussed before his shout of warning to Dean had stopped echoing in the empty alley. Before Dean could turn to look, before he could even process the betrayal, Zachariah reached out and lightly touched his forehead and they were gone; moved to a dim, featureless room with no windows, no paintings, no ornaments or food. It was barely big enough for Dean to take three paces in any direction. The top of his head was only a hand span lower than the ceiling. It was a prison cell, complete with barred door where Michael stood; looking like he had the first time they’d met; looking like his dad.

“Hello Dean,” the archangel said gently, “It’s good to see you again.”

Dean’s response was somewhat less gracious: “Screw you, you son of a bitch.” The conversation went downhill from there.  


.o0o.

  
Sam was hauled away in a car, tied up, blind-folded, gagged and worse. As powerful as demons were, they didn’t have the same powers as angels. They couldn’t teleport, and they couldn’t put someone to sleep with a touch, but they didn’t need to. This time they had tasers. They spent the trip shooting Sam, shorting out his nervous system with extra jolts of electricity, so he couldn’t fight them. They knew Sam Winchester had killed the demons with Famine. He was the only one there who’d been strong enough and motivated enough to do it, so they didn’t take any chances.

Sam jerked and jumped, suffered spasm after spasm, unable to track anything about their journey. All he knew was, when the tremors stopped, when he could open his eyes without wanting to puke, he was in an open cage in the middle of an empty basement. It was small; he couldn’t stand up in it, it took only a couple steps to pace from side to side, and he could feel eyes on him, watching him. He knew who they belonged to.

“Hello, Sam.” It was the voice he’d been dreading. Lucifer stepped out of the gloom. “It’s been too long.”

“Go to hell,” Sam cursed low-voiced. They were the only words he spoke for the next who knows how long. Screaming didn’t count.  


.o0o.

  
Bobby, left in his wheelchair by the van, cursed and pulled out his phone. He punched in the quick-dial number he’d programmed for just such an emergency, “Castiel?”  


.o0o.

  
“You have no faith,” Michael said and Dean had to give him that one. “You don’t believe that we only want what’s best for you, for humanity,” the archangel also said, and Dean had laughed in his face. It had occurred to Dean a while ago that it was a race; the first angel to get their vessel to say ‘yes’ won the prize and the prize was the world.

Michael tried to use Dean’s sense of responsibility against him. The angels and the demons were fighting even now, he said, if Dean agreed then millions and billions, of lives would be saved. Except that Dean had realized that the angels didn’t actually care about the humans living on the world, not really. They hadn’t been designed to and they didn’t know how; most of the ones he’d met didn’t even want to.

He said ‘no’ to Michael again, and he wasn’t polite, not even close. The lesson in manners that followed was very painful.

Dean could save Sam, the angel said. Say yes now, before Lucifer had Sam, and Michael could kill him in Nick. Sam would be safe. Once again Dean laughed. The oldest Winchester had never considered himself very smart but even a brain-dead duck would have noticed how the angels had been oh-so-careful _not_ to push the confrontation while Lucifer was in Nick. They’d had plenty of chances to kill him and hadn’t taken any of them. No, they wanted the ‘celebrity death-match’.

Dean said ‘no’ then as well. He still didn’t bother being polite. Once again, the lesson was painful.

Each time Dean earned a lesson, Michael would smile sadly and back away from the door. He never tortured his vessel. Instead he had Zachariah do it as if that somehow made it ‘not his fault’ but, to Dean, giving the order was the same as doing the deed. Denying responsibility like that was just weaseling. It certainly didn’t make the hunter think any better of the archangel. In fact, it made him more determined than ever to keep the smarmy bastard out of his body.

So it came down to stubbornness versus torture… again.

Zachariah was imaginative, Dean could give him that. It was all organic tortures with him, any painful disease, virus or bacteria that existed in nature, the angel used. Dean suffered through scads of cancers, having his flesh eaten—he couldn’t remember the name of it—various plagues, even arthritis. The diseases would run through his system at an accelerated rate, often in combination with normal injuries such as broken bones, concussions; things Dean had experienced many times before and still didn’t enjoy. It was nothing like what he’d endured in Hell, but at the same time, pain felt like pain no matter what caused it. He endured using techniques he’d learned in Hell, and knew he could last for a while yet.

Despite the virulence of what they inflicted on him, they never let him die, just brought him very, very close. Once Dean was inches away from death Michael would enter the cell, lay those familiar hands on the human’s aching body so gently, stroking back his sweat-soaked hair just like John Winchester had done when his son was small, and Michael would heal him, take away all his pain.

“All you have to do is say yes, and this will all be over,” he’d murmur.

And Dean would repeat various phrases that all meant ‘no’ and the lessons would start again.

“You sound like a bad imitation of Alistair,” Dean sneered at them once, unable to keep his mouth shut. Michael hadn’t appreciated the comparison and Zachariah had let Dean know it. If the oldest Winchester hadn’t already wrecked his larynx in Hell, he would have then.

But he still managed to say ‘no’.  


.o0o.

  
Lucifer started subtle, repeating the same tale of woe he’d told Sam before. He made the same promises using the same words and gestures, like a play he’d rehearsed a hundred times. That was easy for the hunter to ignore. He just reminded himself that angels were dicks, and he’d picture every time they’d proved it, from Uriel being eager to decimate a whole town to Zachariah admitting they could’ve stopped the Apocalypse. Angels wouldn’t lie, but they’d omit, twist and manipulate until false was true and real was fake.

Ruby had taught Sam all about being somebody’s unwitting tool, and he kept the lesson at the front of his mind as the fallen angel circled around his cage, making the offers, telling the tale, asking permission.

“Go to Hell,” Sam cursed, glaring at the Devil.

Then someone put out bowls of demon’s blood, fresh and thick and rich, and placed them just outside arm’s reach. Sam swallowed, and switched to breathing through his mouth. He _would_ ignore the hunger the devil had awoken; for himself, for Dean… for everyone. He could do this.

“Go to Hell,” he said, mouth set in a stubborn line.

When that didn’t work, when Sam didn’t beg for the blood, he was given hallucinations: memories of people he’d loved, people he’d killed, people who’d betrayed him, and people he’d betrayed. But they were more than memory because the pain was as real and sharp as if he was right back there, living through it all over again. He cried until his eyes swelled shut and his chest felt clogged. Lucifer let him see images of people who, he said, were dying right now. The angels and the demons were fighting, _right now_ , Lucifer told him, and the only way to stop it was for Sam to say ‘yes’.

“Go to Hell,” he gasped, scrubbing his wet face on his sleeve.

Then it was pain. The demon blood felt like acid in his body, eating it from the inside, melting it cell by cell and atom by atom. He watched as the flesh sloughed away from his bones, dissolving even as he touched it, but still somehow hurting. He saw the bones emerge as the layers fell away and they were black and twisted and _evil_. When he was only bones and pain and his screams echoing in the small room, Lucifer would stop and rebuild him, give him a respite from agony while the smell of demon’s blood filled the air.

“Go to Hell,” he whispered, curling up on his side and holding his healed body tight.  


.o0o.

  
Castiel showed up and stripped away the last lie.

The angels hadn’t taken Dean to some in-between place that was everywhere and nowhere, and the demons hadn’t imprisoned Sam in some half-wrecked basement in Detroit. They were all in an empty warehouse separated only by yards and the illusions of power. As all the angels turned to face the intruder, Sam realized just how big the lie was. Michael and Lucifer were here, together, sharing a room, sharing a plan—allies in a conspiracy to break the Winchesters. Over here were the angels who followed the Devil and over there were the angels that obeyed the archangel. They weren’t fighting, just keeping a wary eye on one another, waiting to see who would claim their vessel first.

“Castiel, we wondered when you’d show up,” Michael said moving toward the new arrival. They all moved toward the one rebellious angel in the rumpled, ordinary trench coat.

Sam recognized that voice; it was his father’s as he had been when they’d tried to stop Anna from killing their mother before they were born. Dean had told him but it was different seeing it, hearing it, because the tone was wrong. It was too haughty, too smooth… it reminded Sam of Lucifer when he was trying to sound sympathetic but failed.

“Michael, you must stop this,” Castiel stated bluntly. “This isn’t right.”

“Of course it’s right. It’s the will of Heaven.”

Hoping they’d be busy for a while, Sam pulled himself to the side of the cage closest to his brother. “Dean?” he called out. His voice was too rough, like sandpaper. He couldn’t get any volume. His brother would never hear him.

“I’m okay, Sam,” Dean called back. “These guys are amateurs,” but Dean sounded worse than Sam, so it was hard to believe. It didn’t help that he could see the dark red stain that ran from Dean’s eyes, his nose. Over half of Dean’s shirt was dark with blood.

“Dean!” Sam called again, panicking a little.

“Thirty years, Sam,” he said tiredly. “Gonna do better this time. Maybe beat Dad’s record.” Lids drifted shut over green eyes tinted red. The hunter couldn’t see much anyway, so there was no point in keeping them open. Whatever Zachariah had infected him with affected his vision. His ears were still good because he’d heard Sam and he could hear Cas arguing with the other angels. He was too tired to care about anything more.

Cas' voice flowed over him. “It is God’s will that you manipulated and twisted these men’s lives for your purposes? It is God’s will that you now try to torture them into submission?” Cas pointed an accusing hand at the outside wall. “Is it God’s will that you destroy the human race, the race that He created, because you haven’t gotten what you want?” Despite Cas’ passion and conviction, his brothers were unmoved.

“It is destiny, Castiel,” Michael smiled gently. “You should know this. After all, you helped bring it about.”

Sam leaned his aching head on the bars as he watched a nail slide off his finger to land with a plop on the cold cement. Dean had told him, he’d tried to explain, but this, this never-ending _agony_ , had been his brother’s reality for thirty years. Un-fucking-believable. “Betcha I can do better,” he challenged when he thought he had his voice back under control.

A coughing laugh from the other cage, “Like to see you try, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam responded in the pattern they’d established as gangly teenagers, automatic and unthinking and so filled with _normal_ that it made his breath catch in his throat. Sam didn’t even notice the tears running down his face.

“I was wrong then.” It was the first time Castiel had ever said it out loud. “Just as you are wrong now.”

Lucifer stepped closer, although he was careful to keep the lesser angel between himself and Michael. “Are you still concerned with the mortals, Castiel; Father’s little pets? They aren’t worth it, you know.” Castiel said nothing, just stared at his brother with blue eyes that were somehow more piercing than Lucifer remembered. “Murderous, greedy, unable to control their worst selves–”

“And you are doing so much better?” Castiel interrupted. “Violent, manipulative, filled with vengeance and the desire for battle.” His gaze swept over all of his fellow angels that were gathered in the room because all of them were equally guilty. “One would think you were human.”

“You tell him, Cas,” Dean said. He’d managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. It hurt, but it made it easier to breathe. He knew he had a couple broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung, some sort of thing in his sinuses, but what the hell was the difference? It was pain—fucking angels. “How you doing over there, Sammy?”

There was a bowl just on the other side of bars. Light from the windows gleamed on its liquid surface making it seem filled with secrets and ancient powers. He could still smell it, but with the failure of the angels’ illusions, it wasn’t as strong as it was before. Sam tried not to think of what he could do with a bowl of demon’s blood running through him. He reminded himself that most of his powers wouldn’t work on angels anyway. “All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”

No argument here but no point in thinking about it either. “Who’s the guy with Lucifer?” Dean asked, more to distract them from what ‘they’d rather’ than because he actually cared.

“An angel.” Another nail slid off taking the fingertip with it.

“An angel?” The older Winchester repeated disbelievingly.

“Yeah. When Lucifer got tossed out of Heaven, some of the other angels followed him down.” Dean snorted. “They agreed with him,” Sam explained.

Zachariah took a step forward, but Michael put a hand out to restrain him. “This was meant to be, Castiel. I’m sorry you can’t see that. Since you can’t…” his eyes moved to look behind the smaller angel.

“Hello, Castiel. I told you I would find you.” The voice was a bass rumble, like it was emerging from the deepest cave in creation and then being dragged through thorns and gravel. This vessel was a tall, slender black man with eyes filled with solemn power.

“Ah, damn it,” Dean cursed without heat.

Sam had never seen this angel before, but Dean obviously had. “Who’s that?” he asked his brother.

“Raphael.” Dean coughed. _Fuck_ that hurt. He hated broken ribs.

“Another archangel.”

It wasn’t a question so Dean didn’t bother answering. He just listened to himself breathe, felt air filling his lungs—mostly; felt his heart beating—a little unsteady but not bad. He’d learned not to imagine better things in between sessions. It just made the reality even more nasty. No, it was best just to accept where he was, what shape he was in, and to try to appreciate the little things… like breathing.

“Hello, Raphael.” Cas’ voice was as calm as it always was.

“You should have known better than to have come here, Castiel.” The voice practically rattled Sam’s ribs in his chest. “Did you think we wouldn’t be prepared for you?” There was a ‘whoosh’ and a wave of heat. They’d lit a circle of holy oil around the rumpled angel. “When Michael defeats Lucifer, you can go with him. Or you can try to fight, and I will destroy you.” He sounded like he would prefer the latter option.

“He’s not going to defeat me this time, Raphael. Before, I wasn’t expecting him to attack me,” Lucifer’s voice was tinged with anger and remembered hurt. “This time I’m prepared. And I’ve learned a few things since then.”

“He _will_ defeat you.” Raphael took a step toward Lucifer, but stopped when Michael raised a hand.

“You know that’s not certain, Raphael. If it were certain, then we wouldn’t need to do this.”

“You don’t need to do this at all,” Cas stated, once again breaking into the conversation.

“Of course we do.” Sam could see the archangel using his father’s long-dead body to smile—like that wasn’t creepy as hell. “The future of humanity is at stake.”

“Oh please,” Dean whispered in disgust.

“This isn’t about humans. It isn’t about the future of the world. This is about you and Lucifer,” he moved his steady, blue gaze between the two powerful beings, “It is about how you hurt each other, how angry you are with each other, and how your pride won’t let either of you apologize... or forgive.”

Lucifer forced out a smile, “You’re delusional, brother.”

Cas stared at him. “Am I?” he finally asked.

“Angels don’t feel emotions,” Michael stated. His voice was gentle, as if Cas was misguided and merely needed a gentle nudge to find the path again.

Blue eyes pierced the archangel, weighing, assessing. “Don’t they. You are so eager to fight. Anticipation is a human emotion, as is the desire for revenge. You’re frustrated by Dean’s refusal to give in. Another human emotion.”

“Enough!” Raphael broke in. “We have Castiel trapped. He can do nothing to help the Winchesters. There is no further impediment to our plans.”

A new voice “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, bro.”

As one, the angels turned to face the newcomer. Michael was the first to recover from his surprise. “Gabriel?”

“Hello Mikey.” The archangel looked at the gathered flock of angels, “Guys.”

“Gabriel,” Michael’s smile was genuine as far as Sam could tell. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’d say the same thing if you two weren’t planning on killing each other.” He pointed fingers at Michael and Lucifer.

“Huh,” Sam muttered, “Whaddya know.” It was the angel-formerly-known-as-the-Trickster. Sam looked over at his brother and saw Dean was as surprised by this as he was. Sam settled himself more comfortably against his bars, making sure to place himself in the mid-point between two of the bowls of blood just to be safe, but he’d been watching bits of himself falling off his body and that had kind of taken away his appetite for the thick liquid.

“You know why we’re doing this,” Michael said reasonably. “You know why it has to be done.”

“Oh, I think I know the real reason,” he tilted his head, “but I’m betting it’s not the one you’re spouting.”

Zachariah laughed uncomfortably. “The reason is to determine the future of the world.” He looked around at all the angels, “This battle will decide whether the humans live with hope and faith, or pain and damnation.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Gabriel shook his head. “I’ve been around humans a lot longer than you, and I know you can’t really force them to do anything. Considering how much trouble you’re having with Abbott and Costello over there, you’d think you’d’ve figured it out by now.”

“They’ll come around,” Lucifer assured him.

“Not fucking likely,” Dean muttered loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to be ignored depending on what they chose to do. Raphael chose to hear him. He glared at the mortal and flicked his hand. Dean’s body clenched as lightning ran over and through him. He couldn’t scream; he couldn’t even breathe. Sam called out to his brother, watching helplessly as Dean’s face darkened. Gabriel caught and held Raphael’s eyes before snapping his fingers. The lightning stopped and then the pain stopped and all that was left was Dean’s harsh gasps as he pulled air into his abused lungs.

“We were talking, bro. Kinda rude to let yourself be distracted.”

“Dean!” Sam called out, even louder. He was rewarded by a weak thumbs up. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Gabriel didn’t take his eyes from his brother. “Tell yourselves whatever you want but, really, this is just a pissing contest.”

Raphael took a threatening step forward, “Watch your mouth, Gabriel.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a lot of them over the years,” Gabriel responded, unfazed. He looked at Michael, the older brother he had admired, and Lucifer, the younger brother he’d adored. “Castiel is right. This is about hurt feelings and pride. You each want the other to admit that you were right and they were wrong. You each want the other to ask for forgiveness, but to not have to forgive them in return.”

Lucifer laughed softly, “I never took you for a romantic, Gabriel. You make it sound like all we have to do is kiss and make up.” Gabriel looked at him, stared at him, silently, until he rolled his eyes in disbelief. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? Why can’t it be that simple? Two brothers, who loved each other and betrayed each other, but in the end, learned how to forgive each other.”

Sam couldn’t help but look at Dean, who was looking back at him. Had they learned how to forgive each other? Dean gave him a little half smile, filled with irony and shared history. He supposed they’d forgiven each other most things, but he wasn’t sure they’d forgiven themselves for anything.

“That’s not going to happen.” Michael’s voice was filled with pity. “That’s not our destiny.”

“Damn straight it’s not,” Zachariah muttered. He wasn’t the only lesser angel muttering in agreement. “We’re wasting time, Michael.”

Heaven’s most powerful angel nodded. He shot a glance at Raphael and received a nod in return. As one they threw out their hands, directing their will at their fellow archangel. It froze Gabriel in place. One of the other angels—one of the nameless horde that had gathered—hastily circled him in holy oil and lit it.

Gabriel looked at the flames surrounding him and shook his head in despair. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

As always, Michael’s voice was filled with calm surety, “Yes, Gabriel, it does. And if you’d stuck around for the last two thousand years, you’d know why.” Without a word, the two groups moved away from the trapped angels, away from each other, and back to their leaders’ desired vessel.

“Sorry, boys, I tried,” the Trickster called out to the Winchesters.

“Appreciate that,” Dean replied. He was slumped against the bars of his cage, eyes closed. His breath made a thick, gurgling sound.

“What’ll they do to you now? Or, after, I guess,” Sam asked. It was better than thinking about what was going to happen once Lucifer and his gang reached him.

“I don’t know. Kill me, maybe.”

Dean coughed, and it took a moment for Sam to realize his brother was laughing. “Participation trophies suck ass in Heaven ,too. Good to know some things remain consistent.”

“It’s time Dean. It’s beyond time.” Michael’s voice was gently persuasive, or tried to be.

“This must be finished, Sam. Surely you can see that.” Lucifer’s voice was the same.

“Eat me,” Dean said wearily.

“Go to Hell,” Sam didn’t even bother looking at the Devil. He looked at the angels trapped in their circles of holy oil. It would burn until the world ended, keeping them there, in that small space. It was, in its way, just as nasty as what Lucifer and Michael were doing to him and Dean. He was looking at them, at Gabriel and Castiel, so he was the only one who noticed when Cas put his head down and whispered as if in prayer. Sam was the only one who saw him lift his head and open his eyes. He didn’t hear his friend say ‘yes’ but he knew what the lip movement meant. “Shit,” he muttered. “Dean, cover your eyes!”

They all noticed the light, they all heard the voice, and they all felt the power when the new arrival took over his true vessel. The lesser angels cowered, kneeling to make themselves smaller targets. The other angels, the ones involved in the conspiracy to bring about the Apocalypse, turned their heads, but they didn’t kneel, they didn’t cower. They stood and watched, but didn’t understand what was happening.

“Stop.” One word, soft, barely spoken, but all obeyed. Casually, as if he were in the park, Castiel walked through the holy fire which flickered blue and died out as he passed. With a gesture, the flames around Gabriel disappeared, the cages holding in the Winchesters faded and the injuries that had been inflicted upon them disappeared. “This is most disappointing.”

Michael was the first to recover. “Father?” he took a hesitant step forward.

Eyes, blazing beyond blue, turned to him. “Hello, Michael.”

Sam looked at his brother, who gave him a little head jerk asking if they should move away from the confrontation. He didn’t want to leave, exactly, but he sure wouldn’t mind putting some more distance between them and... and God. Dean nodded once in agreement. They didn’t stand up, that might draw unwanted attention; they just crawled on all fours, dodging the occasional angel that popped into existence, and met in the middle by a thick pillar they could both lean on.

When Sam looked around the large space, he saw that it was filling up with angels. The family was gathering.

“Should we stay?” Dean asked.

“Hell, yeah,” Sam responded. “I think we’ve earned the right to find out the ending, don’t you?” Dean had to concede that point, although he really wouldn’t mind putting some distance between them and the fucking angels. Still, there was Cas to worry about…

“How can you be disappointed in us when you didn’t tell us what you wanted us to do?” That was Raphael’s voice. Somehow its deep rumble didn’t sound quite as impressive or threatening.

“I told you to watch the humans. To learn from them.”

“That’s not what I remember,” Lucifer said. “You told us we had to serve them, to put _them_ above _you_.”

Since the brothers had decided to stay, they didn’t bother trying to hide or anything lame like that. After all God was here; where could they go that He wouldn’t see them? They sat quietly by their pillar watching the drama. Oddly enough, the gathering angels never stayed in front of them long. They’d pop in and then move to one side or another so that the brothers could clearly see the final confrontation. Sam idly wondered if it was just an accident, or if God wanted them to witness this.

“So Cas is God’s vessel?” Dean asked his brother in a soft voice, needing confirmation from outside himself. Torture did screwy things with the head and he didn’t fully trust his yet.

“Looks like.” Sam tried to make himself feel more comfortable. God may have healed their injuries but that hadn’t made damaged bones and tissues stop aching. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“How does this make sense?”

“Why are we their ‘true vessels’? Really. What makes us so special?” Sam turned to his brother, “And it’s not that Cain and Abel crap. That’s so far back in the gene pool millions of people could have their blood.” He spoke quietly so that they could listen to the angels, not that it was hard hearing Castiel. His soft tones carried to every corner of the warehouse even though He barely raised His voice.

Castiel’s eyes swung over to His younger son. A comprehensive glance took in the poor state of his vessel—Nick, burning up from the inside. Another glance restored the body. “I said ‘observe’, Lucifer. I’m sorry you misheard, and I’m sorry your brother didn’t listen to your concerns.”

Lucifer recoiled as if struck. “Why, why would you tell us that?” he asked angrily.

“So that you could learn what free will entails, its strengths and its weaknesses; its joys and its pain.”

Michael frowned, “For what purpose?”

Sam's voice was soft, “When you told me what Michael had said, back in ’78, it just struck me as... strange. Like there was more to it that he wasn’t saying.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dean said bitterly. Absently, he placed a hand on his chest to rub aching ribs only to pull it away wet and sticky. God hadn’t fixed his clothes when he’d fixed his body which seemed really typical of Cas. If the angel had had any interest in appearances, he would have traded in his ratty suit and overcoat months ago.

“So I got thinking," Sam said. "Aside from me having demon’s blood—and we know I’m not the only kid Yellow Eyes donated to—what sets us apart from everyone else is we’ve both died and come back. Birth and death are both very powerful symbols in religion—all religions—so I thought maybe that’s it. Dying and being resurrected is what made us the perfect vessels.”

A look of enlightenment lit Dean’s face. “Chuck said Cas had been blown apart.”

“Exactly. Raphael killed him, but he was brought back… just like us.”

“Huh,” Dean grunted. When Sam looked at him for confirmation, Dean shrugged. It was as good a theory as any. He looked at his friend, vessel for God and he hoped for Cas’ sake that the experience was everything the angel had wished for. He kind of doubted it would be. Wishes, in his experience, always had strings attached.

“For what purpose?” Castiel echoed. He stood quietly and the air was heavy, waiting for His response. He looked at His children gathered here, still so young. “I wanted you to learn how to make your own choices. How to weigh your options and see the possible consequences, how to chose your path and live with the results.”

“Why?” Lucifer asked confused.

“Why would we need that,” Michael echoed, equally confused, “We had you to tell us our path.”

“Because children have to grow up sometime. They grow up, they move out, and take up their own roles in the universe.” Castiel—God—included all the angels in His statement but everyone knew He was really talking about the archangels, His four oldest children.

“What the fuck?” Dean muttered.

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Huh.”

“This planet, these people, are in my care. They are my responsibility,” Castiel continued, “Eventually you will move to your own planets, create your own people. They will become your responsibility and you will care for them; their pains and joys will become yours. And, maybe one day, you will have children of your own—breath of your bodies, pieces of your hearts—and you will have to train them, as I have tried to train you.”

Michael looked stunned. “You want us to leave you?”

Dean rolled his eyes toward Sam; out of everything God had said and that’s all Michael heard? Sam half-shrugged in return. He knew they’d both been guilty of only hearing parts of what was said.

“I want you to learn how to make your own choices. Which you have done.” A wave of his hand indicated this room and somehow everything they’d done to bring it to this point. The careful looking away while Azazel and Lilith schemed to free Lucifer. Watching as Mary Winchester burned and John Winchester drowned his sorrow in hate and dreams of revenge. Waiting until Dean was broken before unleashing the angels’ full powers to rescue him. Pushing Sam closer to Ruby so that he would feed his powers and became strong enough to release the final seal.

They hadn’t counted on Castiel’s interference in the last round and now, given whom he hosted, they all had to wonder who else had been watching and nudging the players into position.

“I can’t agree with the choices you have made.”

Michael shifted his weight. He shot a glance at his young brother—the first time he looked at him directly, “But it was prophesied, millennia ago, that we would fight.”

“Haven’t you been fighting?”

Lucifer, who’d wrapped his arms around his chest as if to give himself comfort, finally spoke, “But nobody has won.”

“Nobody has lost either,” Castiel reached out a hand and His rebellious son felt the whisper of comforting fingers smooth over his cheek. “You loved each other so much when you were younger. If there had been a battle between you, with one killing the other, do you really think that the survivor would believe himself victorious?”

“I think we’re nearly at the chick-flick climax moment.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean,” he protested knowing his brother would ignore him—which he did.

“Think there’ll be a group hug?”

“But he disobeyed,” Raphael objected. There were nods from some of the angels who’d arrived with Michael.

“No. He didn’t,” Castiel said plainly. “None of you have. That’s what free will means.”

“If it’s not this,” Michael’s gesture took in the gathering of angels, the promise of violence that lingered, “then what do you want us to do?”

“I want you to come home,” Castiel answered with a small smile, “We’ll do this again, and I’ll try to be a better teacher.”

“Is it just me, or does Cas look a little blurred around the edges?” Sam leaned closer to Dean to ask.

Dean squinted, his eyes still hurt, but he could definitely see what had caught Sam’s attention. “Son of a bitch,” he sat up straighter, “God’s burning him up.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Hopefully, you’re right and this is just about over.”

“So you say you’re sorry, and we’re all supposed to just fall into line?” Lucifer pushed, voice tight, body braced as for a fight. If he’d been human, he would’ve been quivering with the force of his emotions.

It was Michael that answered him, “Why not? We can go back, Lucifer, back to the way it was.”

“Why would I want that,” the Devil asked his older brother. “The way it was didn’t work, and I’ve been on my own a long time answering to no one. Why should I go back to obeying you or him?” A jerk of the chin indicated Raphael, who was still glaring at him. “Or him?” Gabriel shrugged in response to Lucifer's glare. “Why would I go back to unquestioning obedience to anyone?” He meant ‘why should I listen to God’ and everyone in the room knew it.

“Because he’s our Father–” Michael started.

Castiel spoke over him. He looked steadily at His younger son, wanting him to see the promise He was making. “I do not expect blind obedience, not from you or anyone, not anymore. It has gone too far for that. We have all changed too much.” He stopped, His eyes dropped away, and He sighed lightly before returning his gaze to Lucifer. “I will not force you to come back with us, but I can’t allow you to continue in your present course.”

Lucifer’s chin jerked up defiantly, “So come with you, or go back to the pit.”

Castiel shook His head, “Come back with me or it’s over. For good.”

“Shit,” Dean murmured. This sounded horribly familiar. His father’s voice—his real voice—whispered in his mind: ‘If you can’t save him you’ll have to kill him.’ The way Sam shifted, Dean knew his brother was hearing the same thing… only in his voice.

“You would kill me?” Lucifer asked.

“With far more regret than you, any of you,” Castiel swept His too-bright gaze over the gathered angels, “have shown for the hundreds you have killed so far, and the billions you are willing to let die.” He stepped closer to this, His most difficult child, “I do not wish to do it, Lucifer. Please, don’t make me do that to you or to any of your followers. Please come with me.”

Lucifer raised eyes wide with shock. His father, _God_ , was pleading with him. He had never thought to hear anything like that. “You’re asking me?”

Another one of those soft smiles flirted across Castiel’s lips. “Perhaps I, too, have learned some things in your absence.” Then He just stood there, waiting for Lucifer to make his choice. He stood calm, still, as if there was no importance to the decision, as if He had all the time in the universe to stand and wait.

Sam knew that Cas didn’t have that kind of time. He could see the signs of stress showing up on his friend’s body. “Dean,” he whispered, asking if he saw it too.

“I know,” Dean responded, “Nothing we can do about it.”

Sam unclenched his jaw once again. “C’mon, c’ _mon_ ,” he prayed.

Lucifer looked at Michael who was standing close by, looking just as confused as his brother. “Can we do this?” he asked.

Michael looked uncertain and somehow young. He glanced at Castiel then around the room to all the angels, all of them waiting for them to say whether it was war or something different. He started to say something, stopped, then started again. “We can try.” For the first time his voice was uncertain.

“He’ll still be bossy,” Gabriel stepped forward. His swagger was subdued but still there, and he could still tease and annoy, “He won’t be able to help it; it’s what big brothers do.”

“Gabriel...” Michael protested. He hadn’t recognized Gabriel’s tone, but Sam had. The youngest Winchester snorted in recognition and agreement. Dean elbowed him in retaliation.

The Trickster ignored them all, focusing his attention on Lucifer—Lucifer; who would die if he couldn’t bend just a little. “It’s okay though. As the spoiled younger brother you get to nag him unmercifully, and tease him about getting old.”

Lucifer just looked at him, stunned. “I don’t understand.”

Gabriel smiled, “It what human siblings do. I’ll teach you.”

“Do _not_ practice on me,” Raphael announced.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Rafe,” the Trickster smiled, and Dean could almost feel pity for the pompous archangel. Almost, but not really.

“Have you decided?” Castiel asked him.

Lucifer took a deep breath. He looked at Gabriel and at Michael. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “Yes, I will go back with you.”

“Michael?”

John Winchester’s face smiled Michael’s decision, “Of course, Father. Of course, I will go back with you.”

Castiel held up His hands, palms up. They glowed slightly as if the power they contained was leaking out. “Then it is time.” And the light grew, spreading from His hands to His eyes to His whole body. It was like when Anna had reclaimed her grace but ten times, a hundred times, more intense.

Dean and Sam cowered by the pillar, arms covering their heads, but there was no escape from the light. It scoured them, pouring through their bodies and their minds. It found all the dark places and lit them. It found all the light places and eclipsed them. It emptied them out and rebuilt them. And when the light faded and they knew they’d survived, it took them a moment to remember what they should feel like, and who they should be, and they knew that in this one moment, in this immanent ‘now’ God had provided them, they also had a choice of what their future would be: weary guilt or cautious hope.

Dean looked at his brother, finally safe from Lucifer’s plans, maybe even free of the demon’s blood that had been forced on him in the crib. The world was safe. They were alive. He’d done his job. He’d succeeded where all logic and reason said he wouldn’t, that he _couldn’t_. ‘I saved him, Dad,’ he said to his father’s ghost and, finally, forever, banished his father’s voice whispering to him on that hospital bed. He let go of his despair.

Sam looked at his brother and, literally saw the weight lift from his soul. The burden his father had put on him from the age of four and built on for the next quarter of a century, the burden Sam had put on him just by being his brother, all of it gone. It was a wondrous thing. He looked inside himself for the anger—the rage—that had been part of him for as long as he could remember. Always, it had been just there, just on the other side of his civilized veneer, but now he had to search farther, harder, to find it. It was still there but it wasn’t just anger. Now it was all the passions: love, hope, desire, fear, bravery, pride, joy. It was his humanity, untainted.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was still a growl but it sounded different, lighter, “You good?”

“Yeah,” he nodded in response, “Yeah, better than.” He smiled at his older brother, a smile without guilt or expectation, and Dean smiled back, an easy, natural smile with all his old charm and joy.

Then it dropped away. “Shit. Cas!”

Dean looked over to where they’d last seen the angel. All of the vessels were lying on the ground, emptied of the force that had controlled them for who knew how long. He could see that most of them were moving, although weakly, and he took a moment to pity the emergency workers when they came to sort out this mess. Angels generally didn’t leave their vessels coherent, so it would be a bitch to figure out who they all were. Then his mind snapped back on track: find Cas.

Dean stood up and wobbled. His balance was off, like his centre of gravity had changed, and maybe it had, considering... He took a moment to adjust while his eyes scanned the floor for an ugly, beige, trench coat. “Cas!” He couldn’t stop his shout of concern when he finally spotted it in an unmoving pile.

“Cas,” he called again. He stumbled over to the still form. Sam right beside him looking none too steady on his feet either. They dropped to their knees. Dean reached out to find the pulse in Cas’ neck. Sam put a hand in front of the angel's mouth to check for breathing.

There was a pulse—barely. He was breathing—softly.

“He’s alive,” they said at the same time. Then they looked down at the unconscious body of their friend. He was alive but there was no way of knowing what would be left of him when he woke up. Would they get Cas, or Jimmy, or some drooling vacancy that was nothing and nobody?

“What if...”

Dean shook his head, “Don’t say it.” He ran anxious hands over Cas’ body, checking for injuries he could do something about. There was nothing. “He’ll be okay. We survived when everything said we wouldn’t.”

“He can survive it too,” Sam nodded, willing to go along. “We just gotta have faith, right?”

Dean looked at his brother, alive and devil-free. “I can do that. I can believe it’ll come out right.”

“I can do that too,” Sam said in return, confident because, for the first time in a long time, he knew it was true. They’d confronted their worst fear and come out the other side; come out _better_ than they’d gone in. So now, they could believe that their friend would be okay.

They would have faith.


End file.
